


Memories

by morrezela



Series: The Fairy Tale 'Verse [8]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Magic, Resurrection, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairytale AU: It isn’t just princesses who wake from never-ending slumbers.<br/>This is the eighth installment of the Sorcerer-Carpenter verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Reading Staircases, Portraits, Journeys, Hopes, Betrayals, Rescues and Homes first is advisable for the full impact of the story.
> 
> All mistakes you find are my own.

When Jared was young, he was in awe of young Prince Jensen. The prettiness of his face hadn’t stirred him like it did in Jared’s adulthood, but it had inspired Jared nonetheless. If he’d been an artist, he would have painted those features onto a thousand canvases. If he’d been a writer, a sea of scrolls would have been dedicated to describing the unearthly perfection that came from the prince’s mixed heritage.

It was no wonder then that Jensen’s face was what haunted Jared’s nightmares. His visage would slide into Jared’s mind at the worst of times, keeping him from slipping into madness. It made Jared chase after it, trying to find consciousness instead of oblivion. Beckoning him ever forward, it would not let Jared rest. Instead it drove him toward the pain and confusion of his torture, and he would grow to hate it if his heart could remember how to not love it.

Stubbornness had always been a fault of his though, and his feelings would not change. No matter how much suffering they brought him, they also gave him joy. They had a foolish hope to them that Jared’s mind had never overcome in life, and it seemed that in his death he was no better at giving up on his fantasies.

Jared had never been one to wonder much about what would happen to him after life. The times he did ponder that question, he had never once imagined that death would be agonizing. His chest felt like it was being torn asunder. Hard, twisting snakes seemed to writhe within his torso, searching, taking, draining him until there was nothing left to give. His lungs tried to breathe, but the snakes curled around them, stealing away what air he could bring inside.

Nothing made sense. Death meant that there should be no gasping for air. His body should be composting the ground, enriching it for future generations. In his more lucid moments, he knew that. When he was less cognizant, he could only feel confusion and pain. His voice would try to scream, open his mouth to moan, but dirt would fill his throat instead. Skin that should have been long deadened to sensation burned as if he was being pulled through an endless tunnel of gravel.

The only thing that kept dragging Jared back to himself was the memory of Jensen’s face. The innocent wonder of the child, the growing beauty of the adolescent, the sobering kindness of the teenager turning into an adult and finally the sorrowful zeal of the closed mouth man who Jared had been drawn to even in his ignorance: this was what made Jared fight his way back to consciousness. He lost count of how many times that he made the journey. But each time it happened, he wished it would be the last.

Then, just when he truly convinced himself that it was the last time that he could endure such torture, it stopped. When Jared came to himself, there was no image of Jensen floating in his vision. There was nothing to see but blackness. The combination of awareness and lack of Jensen scared him for a moment as it had been so long since he had last experienced the two without each other. Instinct that should have been forgotten in death had him gasping in confusion. But instead of dirt filling his lungs, clean, fresh air came instead.

Of their own accord, Jared’s eyes popped open only to slam tightly shut again as the sun made them water and burn. His hearing buzzed with the thousand sounds of nature, and he choked as his nose started to fill him in on all the smells of the woodland around him. For a moment, he had to fight back the urge to purge his stomach as all of his senses seemed to turn on him. Jared swallowed a few times, fighting down his gorge and eventually mastering it as the sounds assaulting him began to cease their pounding, and the smells began to waft instead of overpower.

Eventually Jared worked up the nerve to open his eyes again. The copse that he found himself in was unfamiliar to him in a way that went beyond never being there before. The flora that surrounded him was different from what he had seen in any of his journeys, and the songs of the birds were tunes that had never reached his ears before.

Jared stumbled to his feet. His skin prickled and ached at his movement, but he ignored it in favor of the panic welling inside of him. The sky was still blue and dotted with clouds, but the strangeness of the land around him made his heart triple its beat. The wind rubbed raw and wrong against the nakedness of his form, but there was no escape from the sensation. After a few minutes, his mind finally realized that this wasn’t another nightmare or hallucination. The view before him was reality, and there would be no madness following after.

Confusion was prominent in thoughts. He could not decide on a course of action. Should he try to make his way home? Attempt to go to the castle? He had no idea what had become of his prince or Baron Morgan. There was no saying what would happen to him if he should return to his homeland even if he could find his way there. Surely he had been pronounced dead. Jared was certain of his own death, so he saw no reason that others would not have come to the same conclusion. Appearing alive once declared dead might bring more trouble than even the court storytellers could imagine.

There were more practical matters as well. Jared was naked and had no shelter from the elements. He had no way of knowing which fruits were poisonous to eat. He could try to snare an animal for food, but he had no tools to build a trap or weapon with. Yet he could hear the sound of a stream nearby. Water was good. He had no other feasible plan, so Jared stumbled after the sound, ignoring the pebbles and sticks that dug into the tender soles of his feet.

It didn’t take long for him to push through the branches of some unfamiliar bushes and set eyes upon a clear pool. There was a small waterfall flowing down into it. The water didn’t appear stagnant, so he dropped to his knees to drink, washing the taste of moldy earth from his mouth as he did so. The cleansing made him feel a bit better, and he was about to slip his entire body into the pool when he finally spotted something familiar.

On the other side of the pond stood the tree that Jared’s own hand had felled.

It was healthy, vibrant and completely intact.


End file.
